Changing His Colors
by AuthoressMegz
Summary: "Do you regret it?" "Regret what?" "Everything." Draco Malfoy has decided to go back to Hogwarts following the war. A lot has changed. And there's a strange girl determined to drive him mad.
1. A New Beginning

A New Beginning

Draco Malfoy stared out the window at the passing countryside for perhaps the first time in all his years of riding the Hogwarts Express. He was positive he'd never bothered to look out the windows, unconcerned with scenery, more interested in attaining the attention of his classmates. He looked at the landscape now, surprised at how beautiful it was. And he had never noticed, not once.

So much had changed.

He glanced around the compartment, thoroughly diminished in population and deathly quiet. Pansy sat in the corner, reading the _Prophet. _Potter was on the front page again, standing in front of a newly-reconstructed Hogwarts. A large part of the wizarding community had spent the entire summer working tirelessly to have the school ready for students again in September.

Blaise was sitting opposite Pansy, reading a book Draco could not see the cover of from his position by the window. He had not spoken a word since arriving on the train; he'd simply stowed his trunk and taken his usual seat, nodding at them all before pulling out his book and engrossing himself in it.

Theodore Nott was sitting opposite Draco, also looking out the window, but by the glazed look in his eyes, Draco knew he wasn't actually seeing anything out there. He appeared to be deep in thought. Draco hadn't heard from or seen him since May; his family had stopped associating with the Malfoys.

The last returning Slytherin from their year was Daphne Greengrass. She sat beside Pansy, flipping through _Witch Weekly_ apathetically, looking bored. Draco saw Granger was on the cover of the magazine. Again. Greengrass had greeted Pansy with her usual friendliness, but had not so much as acknowledged the presence of the three boys in the compartment.

Draco went back to staring out the window, contemplating the end of their journey.

Everyone who had attended Hogwarts last year had been invited to return to retake their courses. A personal letter from McGonagall had explained in depth the measures being taken to accommodate the extra year-group, including dormitory assignments, class schedules, and even Quidditch.

The first years would be joined by the would-be second years for classes, doubling the numbers and making scheduling and dormitory assignments a nightmare. The dormitories had had to be expanded, which had not been overly difficult, merely time-consuming, but there had been much debate about whether the "second" years would room with the first years or if the returning seventh years should room with the current seventh years.

McGonagall had then declared that everyone would still be considered moved up a year. So the kids taking second year classes were actually third years and as such were given Hogsmeade privileges but not the opportunity to take new classes.

So now instead of seven class years, there were eight. At least until this year's official first years got to their last year. It was all needlessly complicated in Draco's opinion. He would have been fine being called a seventh year. Everyone was behind a year; what was so awful about that? It wasn't as though everyone had failed their exams or anything. Exams had just been rather difficult to schedule around the war going on at the time, that was all.

To make things yet more confusing, the second years taking first year classes were allowed their own brooms, but their own classmates, the first years, were not. Draco was sure this was going to result in countless first years somehow having brooms snuck in by the end of first term. Who was going to bother to check anyway?

Quidditch try-outs were already scheduled by McGonagall to save time. Draco glanced around at the compartment. The Slytherin team was all but demolished. Blaise and Theodore were the only other two seventh years, and neither of them had seemed remotely interested when Draco had casually mentioned Quidditch an hour ago. He supposed that was the only reason McGonagall had asked him to be Captain; there weren't any other choices.

That didn't mean he wanted to do it. He'd been more than ready to send the badge back, explaining to McGonagall that she was mental if she thought putting him in a position of authority was a good idea.

"_This is your second chance_," his mother had scolded when he'd told her he was going to refuse. "_Your chance to prove you've changed."_

"_This badge isn't going to make people respect me,"_ he'd told her._ "Badge or no badge, I'm still a Death Eater to them. And no one will ever believe I've changed."_

[]-[]-[]

The train rolled into Hogsmeade just like it had for the last seven years of Draco's life. He sat in his seat as everyone else got up and started out into the corridor. He couldn't see out the window anymore as night had fallen. Now all he saw was his own reflection, pale, thin and expressionless.

"Aren't you coming?"

Draco jumped. Daphne Greengrass was the only other person in the compartment, standing uncertainly by the door, looking back at him. He hadn't expected her to speak to him.

"Yeah," he said, standing. "You go ahead."

Daphne frowned slightly before grabbing her bag and disappearing into the corridor. Draco felt the strangest desire to sit back down and ride the train straight back to London. Only the thought of his mother's disappointment kept him from doing so. He sighed and stepped out into the corridor.

The platform was mostly empty by now, and only a few Thestral-drawn carriages remained. Draco shuddered looking at them. They hadn't appeared last year, the carriages. The students had had to make the long journey up to the castle by foot. Draco suspected Hagrid's mysterious inability to harness them had a lot more to do his anger at Snape than the Thesterals' evading capture.

Draco got into one of the carriages - they still smelled musty and slightly moldy he noted with distaste - and it jolted into motion immediately.

"Wait!" someone called. Draco stuck his head out the window to see a girl with long dark hair break into a run as the carriage picked up speed.

A year ago Draco would have laughed and sat back to enjoy the ride. Now he threw the door open. The carriage stopped abruptly, throwing him forward into the seat across from him.

A moment later the girl caught up, out of breath. She climbed into the carriage wordlessly and slumped into the empty seat. "Thank you," she managed as Draco closed the door and the carriage started toward the castle once more.

He stared at her as her breathing slowly returned to normal. She still hadn't looked up at him, her gaze fixed on her knees as she focused on breathing regularly. After what seemed like ten minutes, but was probably less than two, she finally looked up at him with a grateful smile.

Her expression froze when she saw his face, her smile slipping away. "Oh," she uttered softly, averting her eyes at once.

"You're welcome," he said at long last. She looked familiar, he realized, though he couldn't place her. She was a Ravenclaw, he noted, seeing her robes. So he had no reason to recognize her. But the nagging feeling that he knew her would not leave him.

"Do I know you?" he asked after another painful silence. She glanced at him again, this time with ice in her gaze.

"No," she said coldly.

"It's just...you look familiar," he explained. One eyebrow quirked slightly at that, but she didn't respond. Draco felt a flash of anger at her silence. How dare she? Didn't she know who he was? Didn't she-

_Stop_. He gritted his teeth. Getting angry would not help. He took a deep breath through his nose and turned his eyes out the tiny window. They rode the rest of the way to the castle in frigid silence, and when at long last the carriage stopped at the bottom of the hill, the girl got out first without glancing at him again.

She paused as he exited the carriage however, looking torn. Finally she seemed to make some sort of decision, squared her shoulders, and jerked her chin up at him.

"Thanks again," she said stiffly. "For holding the carriage. It was ... decent of you." And then she turned and marched away.

Draco followed the masses into the Great Hall and automatically glanced up. The enchanted ceiling was there as it had always been, reflecting the cloudless starry night sky outside. New stone archways disappeared into the blackness and bright, almost painfully colorful new house banners adorned the walls. The new tables were dark, gleaming mahogany, not at all like the rough, scrubbed wood tables that had been there for so long, and the new benches were so smooth he felt like he would slide right off if he weren't careful. Draco found himself missing the old furniture he'd always thought was so homely.

The plates were the same though; he supposed the kitchens had remained mostly in tact during the battle. They shone as brightly as ever in the light from the thousands of floating candles overhead.

And - he almost laughed - that damn old three-legged stool McGonagall had carried in every year for as long as he could remember was still there as well. Only now it was carried by tiny old Flitwick, who had been named the new Deputy Headmaster. McGonagall sat in the center chair at the head table now.

The Sorting was as eventful as it ever was - noticeably fewer students went to Slytherin, he noted, and those that did mostly belonged to families whose names Draco recognized as having been either Death Eaters or supporters of them. _Poor kids_, he mused. Slytherins were going to have it tough the next few years.

McGonagall stood as Flitwick carried the Sorting Hat and stool away, and the room quieted.

"Welcome," she said, spreading her hands. "To all new students, I hope you will enjoy your time here. To all returning students, young and not-so-young, it is good to see you again," she said, and her voice was surprisingly soft, not carrying the usual harsh tone Draco was used to.

"A lot has happened in the last few years," she continued solemnly, "but we will persevere as always. As many of you know, certain scheduling and living quarters conflicts have arose in order to accommodate the marked lack of educating that happened here last year, and I, as well as my fellow faculty members, ask that you bear with us as we attempt to cater to everyone's needs.

"That said, a few rules must be put in place. No magic is allowed in the corridors at any time. The forest on the grounds is out of bounds to everyone. Only students in third year and above are permitted to leave school grounds for Hogsmeade trips. First years should note that they are _not_ allowed their own brooms. Also, until further notice, because of the number of dangerous criminals still unaccounted for, a strict curfew will be upheld by _all_ students. Anyone found outside the dormitories - including corridors, classrooms, areas common to all students, and grounds outside the castle - will be most severely punished."

Her gaze swept the entirety of the room, a severe look on her face once more. Her eyes paused on several older students - including Draco, who stared unflinchingly back until she looked away.

Then, the tiniest of smiles turned up the corners of her mouth. "Now that all the nasty stuff is out of the way, let's enjoy our feast, shall we? Welcome back, everyone!" She clapped her hands, and the trays lining the tables were immediately overflowing with food.

This was what Draco had missed - the food. Now that Granger was lobbying for house elf rights and Draco's father was in jail and it was just him and his mother at home, the two of them had to suffer through Narcissa's remarkably horrible cooking. She'd been getting better, he supposed, toward the end of the summer, but nothing compared to house elf food. He tucked in all too readily.

[]-[]-[]

Perhaps having anticipated fewer incoming first year Slytherins, nobody had changed the dormitories much. Two significantly smaller rooms for the returning "eighth years" had been added at the lowest possible level of the dormitories, which was just fine as far as Draco was concerned.

For the first time in seven years, Draco lay in complete and impenetrable darkness. The green lanterns that were present in every dormitory, casting their eerie light everywhere even while students slept, had been turned out after mutual agreement between the three inhabitants of the eighth year dorm.

It was oddly comforting, the darkness. He lay and contemplated what he had to look forward to for the next several months. He was sure it would be trying. "A test of your self-control," his mother had called it. Draco hated tests. He wanted to resent his mother for urging him to come back, but he couldn't find it within him to do so. He was doing this for her. For them.

"Hey Malfoy?

Draco jumped. No one had spoken to him since the girl in the carriage, other than when Theodore Nott had suggested they turn the lamps off, but even that had been directed away from him. Maybe he'd imagined it. He was probably drifting off. No way to tell of course in the inky darkness.

"Malfoy, you asleep?"

No, that was definitely Blaise Zabini from the bed across from his.

"No, I'm not asleep," he answered. "What do you want?"

"What do you think it's going to be like tomorrow?"

"Hell," Draco answered. "Absolute hell."

"Yeah? You think?"

"Maybe not for you," Draco assented.

"Still stuck on yourself, Malfoy?" Nott contributed from the next bed over. "All about you, eh? Even your suffering is worse than everyone else's."

Draco sat up indignantly. "Do you have a Dark Mark on your arm, Nott?" he snarled. "Did _you_ try to murder Albus Dumbledore? Did the Dark Lord try to make_ you_ his little page?"

Nott was silent.

"No. I'm not saying this because I want to be a martyr or something. I'm saying it because it's _true_. _I'm a Death Eater_. That's all they'll see."

He lay back down and turned his back on Nott, even though the other boy couldn't see, so the gesture was basically useless. It felt good anyway.

"Do you regret it?" Blaise asked softly after a long, tense moment.

"Regret what?" Draco asked roughly.

"Everything."

Draco was quiet for awhile, thinking back on all the horrendous things he'd done in the Dark Lord's name. All the advanced magic he'd learned. The _dark_ magic he'd learned. The people he'd tortured. The names he'd given. The people he'd hurt. The people whose deaths he'd contributed to. The families he'd torn apart indirectly.

It was a long time before he said anything. So by the time he said, in a small voice, "Yeah, I do," the other two boys had fallen asleep.

"I really do."

* * *

><p>AN: So, I wrote the majority of this a long time ago with the intent to eventually expand it to a 'look, Draco's starting over!/how Draco met Astoria' kind of story. I wrote the second half of it just now because I was all study-ed out (finals are just over two weeks away) but didn't want to go to bed and had some creative energy to let out. I was going to post it as a follow-up chapter in my current oneshot 'The Garden Wall,' but reading over both of them, they're too different stylistically to be posted together. So you can read this as a follow-up to that with an entirely different style if you want, or you can read this on its own (but because I'm a shameless self-promoter, you should go read that).

That said, I'm not planning on continuing this. It as just a little something I jotted down because Draco is always swimming around my mind, hovering at the edges of my creative thoughts. If I think of anything to add, then I may write more, but no promises. It all depends on what thoughts I absolutely can't get out of my head and just have to write down. Cheers.

-Megan


	2. Prove It

Prove It

Draco Malfoy was minding his own business, as he usually tried to do. He was just out for a walk on a cooler autumn afternoon, having just finished his last class and wanting to get away from the constant judgment and prying eyes of the castle.

He'd only just walked down the hill to the lake, hoping to find the shores deserted so he could take his stroll in peace, when he saw her: the girl from the carriage.

He hadn't thought about her since that first week of Hogwarts, over a month ago. He hadn't seen her, hadn't heard her voice; it had been as though she'd vanished, both from Hogwarts and his mind.

Now, seeing her sitting by the lake, face tipped up to the sun with her eyes closed, a slight smile on her face, he was overtaken by the urge to stop and talk to her. If only to find out why she was so familiar; what her name was, how he knew her. He walked over to her.

"Enjoying yourself?" he asked.

The girl jumped and jerked her head around at the sound of Draco's voice. She scrambled to her feet, her bag clutched to her chest, looking as though she were suddenly in a rush.

"What's the hurry?" he asked, amused rather than offended at her behavior. "Am I such terrible company?" He smirked.

The girl stared at him in confusion for a moment before letting her arms drop to her sides, her bag falling back to the ground.

"That's better," he said pleasantly.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked bluntly, taking him off guard. He blinked back at her.

"Excuse me?"

"You're not nice to anyone else. You treat everyone like they're invisible and spend all your time sulking around. But you're being nice to me. Why?"

"I- You can't just-" he was so surprised he couldn't even string together a proper sentence. "That's not true," he finally managed.

"It is," she said levelly. "Your Quidditch team-"

"My Quidditch team is a lazy lot of dunderheads," he snapped, cutting her off. "They couldn't win a match if it were between them and a handful of those wretched Pygmy Puffs."

"They're terrified of you."

"They're so useless they couldn't- Wait what?" He asked, suddenly comprehending what she'd said through the beginnings of his next rant.

"They're afraid of you."

Draco scoffed. "They're not afraid of me."

"They are. You're so mean and moody all the time. You treat everyone like they're not worthy of your time, and you always have a nasty scowl on your face. My sister has told me about the way you talk to your team; you don't even care if they win or lose, and you think that'll make _them_ care?"

"You don't understa-"

"The world is against you," she interrupted. "Poor Draco Malfoy. Everyone hates you so you hate everyone and no one is deserving of your affections. You've been treated unfairly and now you need to take it out on everyone around you. You went through hell, so others must be punished," she said, her voice developing a cruel edge. Her face twisted into a sneer. He found her face was oddly suited to the expression; it gave her a sort of dangerous beauty.

But he was so bewildered by her outburst that all thoughts of attraction were driven from his mind before they were even fully formed.

"Am I wrong?" she asked softly, her eyes cold. Draco swallowed uncomfortably.

"No," he muttered, angry with her for seeing him so clearly. Indignant that she had the callousness to bring his self-pity into the open. Confused that someone he'd had two remarkably short interactions with could know him so thoroughly.

_She doesn't know me!_ He was furious. Furious and befuddled and beginning to develop a headache.

"So I want to know. Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked, bringing the conversation full circle. "What makes me so deserving of your decreased hostility?"

She was waiting, her sneer having melted away to be replaced by wide-eyed curiosity. Where a moment ago she had looked malicious, frightening even, now she was doe-eyed and innocent, full of passive interest. She was unsettling.

"I don't know," he answered at long last. "I hadn't thought about it."

One side of her mouth lifted slightly in amusement. "Right. See you later, Malfoy."

She picked up her bag and started to walk away. "Wait!" he called out, almost as a reflex. She paused and turned, eyebrows raised.

"Yes?"

"I still don't know your name," he said. She laughed as short, dry laugh that was devoid of any real amusement.

"That's not my problem, is it?"

"You won't tell me?"

She smirked. "Figure it out."

And she walked away, not looking back even once as she climbed the hill and disappeared through the front doors of the castle.

[]-[]-[]

Draco tried to make an effort. He took a better interest in his team, trying to encourage them rather than criticize them. This resulted in such extreme confusion that they spent several weeks having to learn some plays all over again. But it was progress.

It wasn't easy though, and before long he felt himself slipping back into his old mannerisms, feeling sorry for himself, sneering and scowling at others, avoiding public places. He hardly ate in the Great Hall anymore, instead venturing down the kitchens where the house elves grudgingly let him sit in the corner and eat. He knew they were afraid of him, knew they didn't want him there. He could hear them whispering as they went about their duties. He didn't care.

He didn't see the girl anymore either. Again, it was as if she'd managed to disappear into thin air. The few mornings he dragged himself to the Great Hall for breakfast, she wasn't there. He never went to the library if he could help it, so he didn't know if she was in there or in her common room. She didn't play Quidditch, and he never passed her in the halls. And he couldn't ask about her because he had no idea who she was.

_Who are you?_ He wondered.

Ultimately though, as the weeks passed and he threw himself into his coursework and Quidditch team, he forgot about her. He started spending inordinate amounts of time in his dormitory, hunched over on his bed reading for class or writing essays. He never spent time in the common room. He only left the castle for Quidditch, which he didn't even enjoy. They lost their first match against Gryffindor as predicted, and that was that for the term.

His life returned to its previous bleakness, and he found himself almost okay with that. He carried on in an almost dreamlike state most of the time, not seeing anyone around him. He no longer scowled; he didn't' have any expression at all. Just blankness. Numbness. He liked it that way.

Until just a week before he was due to return home for the Christmas holiday.

He got it into his head to take a walk one night after hours; he didn't know why. He knew he could get in trouble for it, but he didn't really care. He needed to get out of his dormitory, get some fresher air than the dungeons provided.

So he ventured out of Slytherin and up out of the dungeons and quietly padded across the Entrance Hall to the doors of the Great Hall. They swung open silently when he tugged on the handle.

The twelve great Christmas trees were lit up with candles and fairy lights even this late at night. They were beautiful, trimmed to excess with silver and gold and green and red and every color in between, ribbons and garland and bells and stars and all manner of ridiculous and glowing ornaments adorning the sweeping branches. Draco wondered if his mother had bothered to put up a tree in the manor this year.

He pulled the door shut behind him softly and stood awhile, staring up at the nearest tree, not thinking of anything in particular, just looking, basking in the soft light.

"Enjoying yourself?" a voice asked softly.

He jumped – more than such a gentle interruption warranted probably, but that didn't occur to him just then.

He whirled around to see a girl – _the girl_ – standing there watching him. He wanted to feel angry that she'd snuck up on him, but couldn't find the energy to do so.

"What're you doing here?" he demanded.

"I could ask you the same thing," she replied, pulling on her robes just slightly so the silver badge engraved with a 'P' caught the light. She was a prefect? Was that why she was so familiar? Had they attended prefect meetings together when he'd still cared about such things? He tried to remember, but he'd skipped most of those anyway, and she would have been too young to be a prefect when he was a fifth-year, wouldn't she? How old was she anyway?

"How old are you?" he asked. One eyebrow disappeared under her fringe.

"That's awfully sudden of you," she answered, looking amused.

"I'm trying to figure out why you look so familiar," he shot back.

"Is your memory that faulty? I mean, I know we don't know each other well, but I feel I should be insulted that you don't remember me."

"I'm not talking about the last two times we've spoken to each other," he said irritably. She gave that dry laugh of hers again.

"You haven't been around," she said instead of replying to his questions. "I don't see you anywhere." She wasn't looking at him, but rather past him, up at the Christmas tree, her head tilted slightly as though she were studying it in depth.

"Neither have you," he accused.

"I've been around plenty," she said pleasantly. "You just haven't been around to notice."

"This is absurd," Draco said, growing annoyed. "What does it matter? We aren't friends. We barely know each other."

She looked at him then. "That's true," she agreed, nodding. "It doesn't matter."

"Who _are_ you?" he asked. Her answering smile was quick, mischievous almost, full of mirth. She enjoyed this little game, he realized.

"You aren't very resourceful are you? Then again, maybe I expect too much from a Slytherin. You think I would have learned after all these years of dealing with my sister," she said condescendingly.

"I've had better things to do than run around asking people about a random girl," he answered. "What do I care if I never learn your name? Why should you be important to me?" he asked angrily, his pride wounded.

Her expression flattened, all amusement and mirth disappearing as quickly as if he'd blown out a candle. "You're right," she agreed. "And I'll let you off the hook this time, Malfoy, since it's a new year and your first offense, but next time I catch you out of bed after hours I'm taking points," she said, abruptly dropping all manners of friendliness and adopting a very cold, professional tone.

"What?" he asked, perplexed at the sudden shift in her demeanor.

"I'm a prefect, Malfoy. And I'm on patrol, so I should get going. I've already wasted too much time here." She turned to go.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Draco asked, reading a double meaning in her words. She glanced at him.

"You haven't changed," she said simply. "Goodbye."

"You don't think I can change?" he asked, following her out into the dark Entrance Hall. She paused halfway up the marble staircase. He stared up at her, waiting for her answer, suddenly fearful of what it would be for a reason he couldn't understand.

"I didn't say that. _Can_ has nothing to do with it. I don't think you _have_ changed," she repeated without turning to look at him. She stared walking again.

"I can change," he called after her stubbornly. "I _have_ changed!" he added.

She turned at the top of the staircase and stared down at him, no warmth left in her expression. "Prove it," she said.

And, like always, she spun around and walked away without looking back.

* * *

><p>AN: So I wasn't planning on continuing this, but then, I never plan any of my fanfiction writing. This exchange occurred to me yesterday and I've been trying to ignore it all day. Again, don't know if I'll continue this or not. No promises for updates. Of course, my brain is on Malfoy overdrive for some reason, so who knows what may happen in the next 24 hours? An entire plot line may reveal itself. Don't get your hopes up.

-Megan


	3. Family Dynamics

Family Dynamics

"How's school?"

"Really, Mother? We're having this conversation?" Draco drawled, eyebrows raised as he glanced up at her over the top of the book he was holding. He was lounging in the drawing room where a roaring fire kept the room the warmest place in the huge, drafty Malfoy Manor. Narcissa didn't bother to light fires most anywhere else, save her bedroom. Too much work.

The Malfoys had never appreciated house elves so much as they did now that they were impossible to find. Draco couldn't remember a time before when he'd been able to walk into any given room in the house and not see a fire crackling in the grate.

"Yes, Draco, we are," Narcissa snapped, sitting in the armchair across from the sofa he was reclining on. He didn't glance at her; his eyes were already back on the page in front of him. "You never write," she added, sounding almost hurt. "I'm here all by myself for months on end with no one to talk to; it gets lonely you know."

"You don't have any friends to gossip with?" he asked, annoyed. All he wanted to do was bask in the utter solitude he could find at home. He finally had three solid weeks of time away from Hogwarts.

Narcissa inhaled sharply, so Draco finally raised his eyes to look at her. He was so shocked by what he saw that he sat up, casting the book aside.

"Mum," he uttered, perplexed.

"I _am_ sorry," she whispered, laughing slightly as she wiped away the tears slipping down her face. "I'm being silly."

"I-I didn't mean…" Draco was at loss for words. Had he just made his mother _cry?_ Draco racked his memory, trying to remember such a thing having ever occurred before. Had the woman _ever_ cried in front of him?

Narcissa sniffed and took a deep breath before squaring her shoulders and sitting up straight. "Well, that was completely unnecessary," she said, laughing shakily. Draco could only stare at her.

"I'm sorry," he said at long last, the words feeling foreign in his mouth. Narcissa tilted her head at him.

"For what, my sweet?" she asked with a serene smile. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"I made you _cry_," he answered, blinking at her owlishly. She laughed again.

"Oh, no, Draco. You mustn't think such things. It wasn't your fault, dear."

_Sweet? Dear?_ Draco tried to recall the last time she'd used pet names for him. It had been at least three years. He was officially weirded out.

"Mum, you're kind of scaring me, yeah?" he said, slipping into informal speech without even realizing it. He also couldn't recall the last time he'd spoken to his mother this way. It had been so long since he'd spoken to anyone this way. He'd forgotten what it felt like. It felt…nice.

Narcissa's smile faltered and Draco felt a stab of relief.

"I'm not trying to scare you, Draco," she whispered. "I just want things to be normal again."

Draco felt the strangest urge to get up and cross the distance between them, to sit down beside her and let her wrap her arms around him like she used to when he was little. But he didn't. He sat there and stared across the coffee table at her.

"Me too," he murmured.

[]-[]-[]

"Draco."

Draco looked up to see his mother standing in the doorway of the drawing room, a tray in her hands. He sat up.

"I made biscuits," she said, and the announcement would have been cheerful had it not been for the trepidation on her face. Draco smirked.

"How'd that go for you?" he asked, trying not to laugh. She set the tray down and attempted to look proud and haughty for a moment. Draco quirked an eyebrow at her and she snorted.

"Terribly," she said with a harsh laugh. "But you have to try one and tell me if they're good."

"Won't kill me will it?" he asked, picking one up cautiously. It was burned on the bottom, black and awful-looking. He grimaced.

"Might," Narcissa answered grimly. Draco's smile was fleeting, but it was enough to make her heart warm. Merlin knew she hadn't seen much of that the last three years.

"Alright then," he said, raising it to his lips. "Cheers," he added, wrinkling his nose. He took a bite; it crunched loudly, and crumbles of the biscuit dropped all over his shirt.

"Well?" Narcissa asked.

"It's awful, Mother. Truly," he told her, putting it back on the tray and brushing away the crumbs on his shirt. Narcissa sighed.

"I thought so," she said. "Well, back to the drawing board."

"Good luck with that," he said, picking his book up again.

[]-[]-[]

"I'm going to miss you," Narcissa said, brushing the hair out of her son's eyes as they stood on Platform 9¾ . She had insisted upon escorting Draco there to say goodbye despite his assurances he'd been able to apparate successfully for quite some time.

Draco's jaw clenched slightly as his eyes darted around, checking for observers – or something more sinister. Narcissa often wondered if Draco was really as calm and collected as he always appeared at home. Their rare ventures out in public together always revealed to her a more nervous and tense version of her son.

"Draco," she said softly, squeezing his arm. His eyes snapped back to her. "It's okay, son," she murmured.

"I'll miss you too," he said gruffly, ignoring her reassurances.

"Write now and then, yeah?" she asked. The tiniest hint of a smile lifted the side of his mouth.

"Yeah," he agreed. "I will."

"I love you," she reminded him.

"Love you too," he said, rolling his eyes fondly.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," she reminded him. He gave her a grimace.

"Right."

The warning whistle blew and students started hurrying to get on the train. Draco finally gave in and hugged his mother briefly.

"See you in a few months," he told her. "Try to stay occupied."

"I'll work on my cooking," she joked, and he snorted.

"Bye, Mum."

Draco claimed the first empty compartment he found and quickly drew the shades on the door to ward off visitors. He dug out the book he'd started two days ago – he'd spent his entire winter break doing an unusual amount of reading – and absorbed himself accordingly.

Hours had passed – he'd nearly finished the book and darkness had fallen – before he was interrupted. A knock on the door. He sighed and got up to open it.

"Can I help you?" he asked, annoyed. He took an immediate step back when he saw _her_ standing there.

"Oh. Hi, Malfoy," she said, equally surprised. He stared at her silently, on guard. He hadn't spoken to her since their late-night encounter in the Great Hall, but every time he'd seen her since he'd been tensed and ready for her to tear into him. She hadn't so much as glanced at him any of those times.

"Hi," he said shortly. She glanced around, visibly distracted. Seeing he was alone, she took a step forward, into the compartment proper, and slid the door shut behind her.

"What're you doing?" he asked, still wary.

"Hiding," she said simply.

"Hiding," he repeated, confused.

"Hiding," she confirmed. She moved to his vacated seat and picked up his book, peering at the title. "Interesting," she commented, setting it back down on the seat and straightening up. She glanced around the compartment more curiously, taking in his robes strewn on another empty seat, his trunk on the floor, his eagle owl's new cage gleaming dully in the corner.

"Who are you hiding from?" he asked, still standing. She glanced up at him.

"My sister," she said with a shrug. "I stole her jumper," she added, tugging on her shirt.

Draco recognized the jumper she was wearing. He didn't know why though. Just like he didn't know why this girl seemed so familiar. It was like déjà vu, or a half-forgotten dream. He _knew_ he'd seen her somewhere before this year. The memory was just evading capture, hovering on the edge of his consciousness.

"You're staring," she said. Draco blinked and quickly averted his eyes. She laughed, and the sound made Draco want to grind his teeth with frustration. _How do I know you?_ He wanted to shout.

"I thought you were angry with me," he said instead.

She blinked up at him. "Why would you think that?" she asked, a crease appearing between her eyebrows as she frowned.

Draco was taken aback. "You're not angry with me?" he asked, confused.

She shrugged. "No."

"But last time we talked-"

"Oh," she interrupted, laughing slightly. "It was late. I get crabby late at night, and patrolling is the worst. Sorry about that."

Draco wasn't sure what to make of that. "What's your name?" he asked after awhile. She tilted her head at him, reminding him of a small dog.

"You really _aren't_ very resourceful, are you?" she asked for the second time, smirking slightly.

"What does that even mean?" he asked, feeling offended.

"I've given you _everything_ you need to figure it out. You just haven't bothered," she answered with a shrug. "But I guess the high and mighty Malfoys are used to having whatever they want served to them on a silver platter. Maybe it's not your fault," she said thoughtfully. "Maybe you can't help being a spoiled brat. You've never known anything different after all."

"Hey, wait a minute," Draco said, insulted. "You can't just go around denouncing my family like that."

"Why not?" she asked innocently. "People denounced my family all throughout the war," she added, and her voice was suddenly low and almost frightening in its quiet anger. "They called us cowards, blood-traitors, criminals against our own race. They _threatened_ my father, my mother, and my sister. They threatened me. So you tell me, _Malfoy_, why I can't say whatever the hell I want about your family? Are you going to stop me?"

Her face was right up against his, furious and menacing and altogether terrifying. Draco took a step back, perturbed. This girl was strange. And possibly unstable.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said at last, and he was ashamed to hear the quaver in his voice.

She stared at him for a long moment before her expression relaxed. She looked slightly embarrassed. "I'm sorry," she said, lowering her eyes. "That was uncalled for."

"I'll say," Draco muttered. Her eyes snapped back up to his, narrowed, but she said nothing.

After another long pause, Draco's smirk managed to find its way back to his face. "You know, I'm starting to think you should've been in Slytherin," he joked.

It was obviously the wrong thing to say. Her face immediately became stony and unreadable, and rather than looking angry, she looked … sad.

"So I've heard," she said grimly. "I'd better go. See you around, Malfoy."

Draco didn't call after her this time. He moved to the doorway and watched her make her way down the corridor until she reached the doorway to the next car. She disappeared through the doorway without looking back.

* * *

><p>Bah. What am I doing here? I'm supposed to be studying. Finals are in FOUR days, and what am I doing? Writing fanfiction and looking at apartments for next year. Someone save me; I'm wasting my life on unimportant things when I should be doing work. I'm going to fail college. Great. Too bad I can't write fanfiction for a living; I'd totally be okay with that.<p>

Right. Review if you liked it, review if you don't. If I don't before then, Merry Christmas.


	4. Realizing the Game

Realizing the Game

"Malfoy."

Draco jumped, startled, and looked up to see Blaise standing in front of him. He blinked, confused for a moment about what seemed different since the last time he'd looked up from his essay.

It was dark outside, he realized. How long had he been sitting in the library? He glanced at his watch; it was well past supper, nearly ten. His stomach growled.

"Zabini," he replied at long last, nodding up at the tall boy. Blaise took this as an invitation to sit down across from him.

"Some of the lads were just wondering when Quidditch is starting up again," he said.

Draco shrugged. "Hadn't thought about it yet. Next match isn't until March anyway."

"Right."

Draco knew this couldn't be the only reason Blaise had searched the entire library for him, so he waited, taking the moment of silence to continue writing his essay on the properties of the Draught of Living Death and the controversial debate in using it in common medicine practices. Kids' stuff, really, he thought.

"Malfoy…"

"Just spit it out, Zabini," Draco said. He glanced up to see Blaise looking hesitant.

"Go on," he urged.

"I was just wondering…if you're okay."

Draco frowned and stopped writing. "What do you mean?" he asked cautiously. Part of him wondered if he should feel insulted.

Blaise grimaced. "I just mean… I know it's been a rough couple years for you, and what with your father being in Azkaban" – Draco's jaw twitched involuntarily – "well I wanted to make sure you're alright I guess."

"I'm fine," Draco said, shrugging slightly.

"Really? Because I haven't seen you eat anything in a week," Blaise countered, raising his eyebrows. "And you've been spending a lot of time hidden away in bed the last couple months."

"Zabini, honestly. I'm fine. Besides, it's not your place to worry about me," Draco said, somewhat annoyed. Blaise frowned.

"I'm just trying to be a friend," he said.

_I don't have any friends_, Draco wanted to say, but he held his tongue. Blaise looked sincere, truly concerned. A year ago, Draco would have scorned him, calling him soft and a pansy. But a lot had changed in the last year. He offered a tentative smile – it came out more like a wince.

"Thanks," he managed. "Really."

"Yeah, mate," Blaise said agreeably. "I just wanted to make sure."

"I'm good. I'm-" but whatever Draco was going to say was instantly driven from his mind as a particular brunette rounded the end of the bookshelves. She didn't notice him, looking intent on her mission to get wherever she was headed, and seconds later she wandered off between the stacks.

As she disappeared, Blaise glanced around confused, having just missed her appearance. Draco was still staring at the spot where the shelves had blocked his view.

"Malfoy?"

"Sorry," he said quickly, snapping back to the conversation. "What was I saying?"

Blaise raised one eyebrow at him. "You were feeding me some more bull about being perfectly fine," he said.

"I'm fine," Draco repeated. "But, I have to go. I'll see you around, yeah?" And he quickly gathered his things and hurried after the girl.

Blaise shook his head as he walked off. "Don't know why I bother," he muttered.

Draco walked between the stacks, looking this way and that for a flash of brown hair. He wandered up and down row after row of books, and was just about to give up when a familiar voice called out softly, "Are you following me?"

Draco whirled to see her behind him, holding a book and looking thoroughly amused.

"No," he lied, scoffing unconvincingly. "Why would I do something like that?"

She shrugged. "You tell me."

"What're you studying?" he asked instead, nodding at the large book in the crook of her arm.

She glanced at the book. "'_The Impact of 20__th__ Century Muggle Technology on Modern Wizarding Life',"_ she read. "What a mouthful."

"You take Muggle Studies?" Draco asked, unable to keep the condescending tone out of his voice as his lip curled into a sneer. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"It's fascinating," she said coldly. It took all of Draco's willpower not to laugh.

"If you say so."

"Muggles have lived successfully without magic for centuries," she countered. "They have electricity and cooling and heating systems and computers and telephones…their communication system is much more refined than ours is. Their transportation modes are more practical than all of ours except Apparition, even if they're not faster. They're much more adaptive than wizards are, and they're constantly inventing new technologies and new ways of doing things." She looked annoyed that he would even question this.

Draco doubted very much that Muggle technology was as interesting as she claimed, but he let it slide. "If you say so," he repeated, laughing slightly. Her chin jerked up defensively.

"I have a paper to write. See you later, Malfoy." And as quick as that she was gone. Draco shook his head after her, amused.

[]-[]-[]

Draco lay in his bed staring up at the canopy above him in the murky green light of the lanterns overhead. The dorms were never brightly lit and always cold and rather damp, what with being in such close proximity to the lake. He'd never had a problem with that before; indeed he'd grown to rather like it.

The thing about the dungeons was that one never knew exactly what time of day it was. He could glance at his watch and not know if it was two in the afternoon or two in the morning. That had always bothered him when he was younger. Now he kind of relished it. He could turn the lamps off and lie in the impenetrable darkness no matter what the hour; he doubted very much any of the other houses' dormitories could do that, except perhaps the Hufflepuffs'.

As he lay there, his mind wandered until he was dozing off with thoughts of that odd girl running through is head. Surely he knew her somehow.

"_People denounced my family all throughout the war. They called us cowards, blood-traitors, criminals against our own race." _Her words echoed through his sleepy mind. _"They threatened my father, my mother, my sister."_

_My sister. My sister. Sister… _

"_Who are you hiding from?" "My sister. I stole her jumper."_

"_My sister has told me about the way you talk to your team."_

"_Maybe I expect too much from a Slytherin. You think I would have learned after all these years of dealing with my sister."_

"_You know, I'm starting to think you should have been in Slytherin." "So I've heard." _

Who even had sisters? He couldn't think of anyone. Pansy was an only child. Daphne Greengrass had a sister, but she wasn't…she was...

Draco's eyes flew open. He stared straight ahead, thinking hard. Daphne Greengrass had a sister. Had he ever met her? Surely he must have. Their families had probably mingled at countless events.

The Greengrasses had certainly been ridiculed for their decision to stay out of the war. The Dark Lord had been most displeased with Matthias Greengrass, going so far as to threaten his family's lives. Daphne hadn't even returned to Hogwarts last year.

Daphne Greengrass's sister was a Ravenclaw, wasn't she? But _what was her name?_

And then, _Why do I care?_ Draco was surprised by this thought. Why _did_ he care? What did some snotty sixth-year Ravenclaw mean to him anyway? Why was he so preoccupied with her?

She didn't matter. She was just another student in another house in this giant castle. She was toying with him, he realized. This game was entertaining for her, stringing him along like some fancying sod. He didn't fancy her. He didn't care one bit for her.

Whatever-her-name-was Greengrass could piss off. Draco Malfoy wanted nothing to do with her. He was suddenly furious with himself for wasting all this time and energy thinking about her, buying into her stupid little guessing game. He hadn't come back to Hogwarts to endure a year's worth of ridicule and suffering just to be wound up by some stupid sixteen-year-old girl.

If he hadn't _not _cared so much, he would have gone looking for her right then just to tell her to her face that he was through with her. He never wanted to see her stupid smirk again.

* * *

><p>So I probably wrote three different versions of this before finally deciding on one. I realized that Draco was starting to go soft, and I can't have that happening. Draco is still damaged and bitter and still very much the spoiled brat he's always been. He <em>wants<em> to change, but he hasn't actually gotten around to the changing bit yet, so I had to take that into account. The original draft of this was much too light-hearted and sweet - the exchanges between him and Zabini and Astoria were much less hostile, but it was too much progress too soon. So we have angry Draco instead. I quite like writing him.

Review if you liked it. Review if you didn't. Review if you like toast. Just review.


	5. Mockery

Mockery

"This is utter rubbish," Draco said sulkily, pushing away his charms essay. He rubbed his throbbing temples with his fingertips and glanced up to see Blaise looking at him with concern.

"I'm so sick of this place, Zabini," he said. "What's the point? How is learning this shit going to help me in life? No one's going to hire me for anything worthwhile anyway, not with this on my arm," he growled, waving his left arm back and forth.

Draco loathed the ink buried in his skin, loathed it more than anything else about his situation in life – more than his father being in prison, more than his mother wasting away in their too-big manor, more than the utter pointlessness of finishing his education, more than the fact that everyone avoided him like the plague, even more than the fact that Blaise Zabini seemed stubbornly determined to be his friend.

Blaise said nothing, but Draco knew he was paying attention. "What am I doing here?" he sighed, resting his cheek on his fist and staring at the unfinished essay on the tabletop. He had the strangest desire to tear it shreds and throw it in the grate.

"Maybe this is just what you need to be doing," Zabini suggested. Draco sneered at him. Blaise was always spouting vague, useless advice. He was deplorable, and in that moment Draco hated him.

"_Maybe this is what I need to be doing?" _he asked, his voice mocking. "What I _need_ to be doing is taking a hot bath," he added scornfully. Blaise frowned, looking almost wounded.

"Honestly, Zabini. You're such a girl sometimes," Draco added to drive the stake home.

"Piss off. Stop feeling so damn sorry for yourself all the time," Blaise said shortly, standing up. "It's no wonder no one can stand you, Malfoy. You're such a child." And he walked away, leaving his homework behind, walking right out of the common room without a backward glance.

Draco stared after him in outrage. How dare he? Draco didn't see _his_ father in prison or a feared and hated tattoo plastered on his arm. Zabini was free to do whatever he pleased. Draco was a pariah.

He snorted. Stupid Zabini. He acted like Draco _wanted_ to be his friend. What use did he have for friends? They just got in the way. Or left. Or died.

He felt the faintest stirrings of unease as he flashed back to the hellish fire that had killed Crabbe. Then he shook it off. It was his own fault; he'd been the one stupid enough to cast the Fiendfyre in the first place. Shaking the memory away, Draco went back to the pointless task of finishing his essay.

[]-[]-[]

"What am I doing here?" Draco muttered, staring at the wall in front of him. He glanced around nervously; no one was anywhere to be seen in the deserted seventh floor corridor. "This is so stupid," he sighed, beginning to pace back and forth.

A door appeared on the third walk-by, just like always. Draco noticed something different about it though; it looked old, weathered, tired if a door could be tired. He touched it nervously. The wood was worn and splintered, charred. His fingers came away black with ash.

"Don't be a coward," he told himself angrily when he took a step back in fear. He swallowed hard. _Just do it_.

He turned the blackened handle and pushed the door open.

The Room of Requirement was a skeleton of the grand place it had once been. It was the same grand, high hall he'd once used to fix the Vanishing Cabinet, but now it was empty. The fire had eaten away everything in the room. He stared around him, fear prickling the back of his neck and making him sweat. He didn't know why he was afraid though, and that made him irritable. He took a step forward; he foot sank into the gray of the floor – it was covered in ash. He withdrew his foot immediately.

The room gave him an odd feeling he didn't have a name for. He was simultaneously frozen in the doorway and clinging to the top of a haphazard stack of rubble, watching Crabbe fall into the inferno below just second before jumping on the back of Potter's broom. His chest tightened painfully and his breathing was suddenly coming in short gasps. He felt ashamed to feel the wetness on his cheeks and brushed the tears away angrily.

A loud crack rang out, and Draco jumped violently. Whether the sound came from inside the room or not, Draco never knew and didn't stick around to find out. He backed out as fast as possible, slammed the door behind him and took off down the corridor at a run.

He didn't see the two sheepish third years, faces dirty with the ash from an exploding toy wand they'd found, round the corner at the other end of the hall.

[]-[]-[]

The months passed painfully slowly, and the snow melted as Hogwarts inched toward spring. Slytherin continued to lose Quidditch, mostly due to their captain's lack of interest in his team, and Blaise continued for awhile and then eventually stopped trying to talk to him. Draco made himself forget the incident in the Room of Requirement and once again immersed himself in self-imposed exile, avoiding his roommates and going down to the kitchens well past curfew for supper. When he wasn't hiding in his room, he took up residence in the darkest corner of the library, sometimes working, sometimes just brooding.

That particular evening, Draco caught a glimpse of the ceiling of the Great Hall as he crept past the double doors to the kitchens. Someone had left one of the doors ajar – probably one of the prefects on patrol. He paused in the doorway and glanced up at thousands of sparkling stars and a perfect crescent moon, not a cloud to be seen.

He stood for awhile just looking at the enchanted ceiling, and suddenly he remembered the last time he'd been in the hall after hours. Greengrass. Some unknown feeling made his chest tighten; he didn't like the feeling one bit, incorrectly associating it with the same feeling he'd experienced in the Room of Requirement so many months ago, so he shook himself and turned to leave. This was stupid. Who cared about her?

"Honestly," he muttered, annoyed with himself. He went down the kitchens to grab a sandwich.

On his way back the dungeons, he glanced up once more. A single cloud had skidded across the ceiling, blocking part of the moon.

"Get to bed, Malfoy."

Draco jumped, and his wand was in his hand before he had even turned halfway to see who it was.

"Put that away. I don't want to take points for attacking a prefect as well as being out of bounds after hours," Greengrass's cold voice came from the other end of his wand. Draco blinked and lowered it, and her face swam into view out of the darkness.

"What _is_ it with you and sneaking up on people in here?" he snarled, abruptly furious with her. She snorted.

"_I'm_ a prefect. I have reason to be here. _You_ don't though. So go away. Five points from Slytherin."

Draco scowled at her. "Perfect Ravenclaw Prefect Greengrass," he sneered. "Your parents must be so proud."

She looked legitimately surprised, hearing her name, but the expression was only there a split second before her cool mask returned. "Wow, Malfoy. So you _are_ capable of learning things. Who knew? Now get back to your common room." She turned and walked away, disappearing down the corridor before he could call her back.

_Why would I want to call her back_? Draco shook his head. She was the most ridiculous person he'd ever met.

[]-[]-[]

The year ended with little fanfare. McGonagall spoke during the farewell feast about how proud she was of everyone for enduring the complicated arrangements of classes and dormitories, and how she hoped everything would continue to run smoothly until Hogwarts was back on level.

Gryffindor won the Quidditch and House Cups of course. They made an awful noise in celebrating, and Draco swore even in bed that night he could hear the party happening in Gryffindor Tower.

On the train ride home, Draco made sure he was one of the first ones on the train, claiming an empty compartment for himself. Two fifth years had the audacity to ask if they could sit with him; he merely scowled at them until they walked away awkwardly.

The train was maybe twenty minutes outside London when the door to his compartment slid open.

"Go away," he said without looking up from his newspaper. Potter and Weasley were currently heading the operation of revolutionizing the Ministry; the story he'd been reading had been about Potter's "heroic efforts" to reform the Auror department.

"You're so friendly. It's a wonder no one can stand you, honest."

"What do you want, Greengrass?" he asked, finally gracing her with his gaze. She was already dressed in Muggle attire, her long brown hair pulled up in a ponytail. For a split second Draco recognized how pretty she looked with her hair away from her face like that. Then he scowled.

"Just checking in. A couple of kids said there was something nasty in this compartment, and what do you know? They were right."

"So clever," he sneered.

"Now that I know it's just your ugly mug, I'll leave you be," she assured him, tipping an imaginary hat before bowing and backing out the door as she slid it shut. Draco wasn't sure, but he thought she might have been mocking him.

* * *

><p>So Draco <em>does<em> have feelings. He's just really bad at recognizing them. I don't know if I'll be updating again before I go back to school. Then again, the next chapter will probably be easier to write than this one because I already know how I want it to go. So we'll see. No promises.

Review if you liked it! Review if you loathed it. Review if kiwis sound really good right now...

-Megan


	6. One Year Later

One Year Later

The rain was pouring down outside, rattling against the tin roof of the apothecary and the glass windowpanes of the little back windows. Draco glanced out of one of those windows, looking out at the peeling gray fence and muddy strip of earth between it and the back door. It was a bleak view, but nevertheless one that he'd grown accustomed to over the course of the last year or so.

When Draco had set out to find a job after finishing Hogwarts, this was not what he'd had in mind. But then, he hadn't known what he'd had in mind anyway. Finding a job had been nigh on impossible what with the unfortunate combination of his last name and the tattoo on his arm. He'd nearly given up when he'd stumbled into the apothecary one stiflingly hot afternoon.

_Tired, hot, sweaty and dusty, Draco opened the door, thinking only of the cool, dark interior of the shop he'd passed by year after year on his school shopping visits. His parents had never shopped at the run-down little apothecary, preferring to buy their son "only the best" potions ingredients from a high class, overpriced vendor in Knockturn Alley._

_That didn't matter today though. Today, all that Draco cared about was getting out of the blinding sun and scorching heat. He slipped inside quickly, closing the door behind him as though all of the hot air would follow him inside if he weren't fast enough. He stood a moment, blinking in the sudden darkness._

"_Welcome, sir. What can I help you with?"_

_Draco squinted into the shadows to see a gray-haired, bent old woman standing at the till, peering up at him from under the brim of a comically large pointed hat. _

"_Nothing," he said after a moment. "Just browsing," he added, turning his back to glance at the shelves behind him. The glass of all the containers was dusty, nearly opaque with grime, so Draco had no idea if what the labels claimed the jars and bottles contained were true or not. Surreptitiously, he slid a finger along one of the shelves. It came away coated with dust. Wrinkling his nose, he wiped the dust as best he could back on the shelf it had come from._

"_Are you an inspector?" the woman demanded, and Draco turned at the sound of her uneven gait. He looked down at her with part amusement, part disdain._

"_No, _madame_," he said, unable to keep the condescending tone out of his voice entirely. "Merely looking to get out of the heat for a few moments. Your shelves could do with some dusting though," he added, gesturing at the filthy state of her products. _No wonder Father never wanted to come here.

"_People don't come here for cleanliness, they come for potions ingredients. You don't like it? Do something about it then," she spat. He snorted. _

"_Right." He turned his back to her again, glancing at a row of bottled potions that looked as though they'd been sitting there since before Draco was born. _

"_How do you know these have kept?" he asked, pointing at one. "How long have they been there?"_

"_Awfully nosy for not an inspector," the woman grumbled, not answering his question. She thumped her way back to the counter and disappeared into the back._

_Draco looked suspiciously at a tiny vial labeled as pepperup potion. It couldn't possibly still be effective. He straightened up and looked around. The entire shop was in disrepair. The large barrels that had probably once held beetles' eyes and other small ingredients in bulk now stood empty. The dried herbs had shriveled up long ago. The windows were coated with muck. Everything was dirty._

_Apparently no one else shopped there either._

Thump_. Draco whirled, surprised. The woman had returned, slamming down on the counter a large notebook overflowing with loose papers._

"_My records, _inspector,_" she said, glaring at him. _

"_Why's this place such a mess anyway?" Draco asked, ignoring her. "Everything is filthy. No wonder no one shops here."_

"_I get enough business to stay open. None of my customers have ever complained. If you don't like it, shop somewhere else."_

_Draco frowned. "But if you just tidied up a little–"_

"_I don't see how it's any business of yours. Unless you want to do something about it, or are planning to buy something, you can go now, boy," the woman said irritably._

_Draco's chin jutted up indignantly. He turned sharply and left, snapping the door shut behind him. The heat outside had not abated, and sweat instantly broke out on his forehead as he strode down the street. He'd made it halfway to the Leaky Cauldron before his pride got the better of him and he turned around, marching right back into the shop._

"_Now see here," he said angrily as he burst in. As expected, the apothecary was still deserted. The woman rolled her eyes when she saw him again. "You can't go around treating customers that way you know. I'd dare say you get precious little business as it is, so you shouldn't be so rude," he told her, walking to the counter and staring down at her._

"_I don't see how it's any of _your_ business. You aren't a customer; you didn't buy anything. And you're the one who burst in here telling me my shop is unfit without even bothering with a 'good afternoon' first. So, are you quite finished or is there more you'd like to insult?" she asked._

"_No," Draco answered. "I'm not finished. What kind of business are you supposed to be running, letting the place go to the dogs like this? Look at this for Merlin's sake!" he exclaimed, lifting his hands from the counter and showing her the dust covering his palms. _

_She blinked at him, unimpressed. "Like I said, none of my customers have ever complained."_

"_Maybe you'd get _new_ customers if everything wasn't drowning in dust," he suggested._

"_Fine. Come in tomorrow morning and you can get started," she said abruptly. "Good?"_

"_I- what?" Draco stared at her. _

"_You want to clean this place up? You want to brew fresh potions? You want to restock the old ingredients? Be my guest. Tomorrow morning, eight o'clock. I'll even pay you if that's what you're after. Now go away, you annoying little twat. I've had quite enough of your cheek for today." And with that, she turned and went into the back room, slamming the door behind her. A shower of dust fell from the doorframe._

Draco flinched as a raindrop fell on his neck. Even with the new roof, somehow water was getting in. He held his hand out and sure enough, another drop fell into his palm. Grumbling, he climbed up onto the worktable and prodded at the ceiling experimentally with his wand and left hand, muttering drying spells and repairing charms.

The apothecary had experienced a complete turnaround since Draco had reluctantly begun work there. He hadn't intended to take the old woman up on her offer, thinking her a bit batty, but once he'd told his mother about his encounter, she'd done everything but sit on his chest with her wand to his throat threatening to kill him if he didn't take the job.

So, loathing every second, he'd spent the entire summer working for Augusta Bane. He'd done more physical labor in those three months than in his entire life, scrubbing shelves and washing windows and building new shelves and repairing the rafters and replacing the crumbling shingles with a solid tin roof. His muscles had hardened, his skin had tanned, and by the end of the summer, he'd hardly looked or felt his normal self.

He had meticulously gone through every ingredient on the shelf, checking and rechecking for freshness and vitality. He'd rebottled and relabeled those still suitable for potionmaking, throwing out that weren't. He'd scrapped all of the old potions entirely, not trusting any of them, and rebrewed all of them and then some.

Augusta taught him the order procedure for new ingredients and how to do the figures at the end of each day – which, in the beginning, usually consisted of adding and subtracting nothing at all.

And gradually, grudgingly, Draco had grown fond of Augusta. She was definitely batty, but also snarky and witty and incredibly knowledgeable about potioneering. She taught him shortcuts and alternative ingredient uses. She showed him the different results one could get with a potion simply by brewing it in a cauldron of a different kind of metal. She let him experiment with more advanced potions and dangerous ingredients on his off time. He grew to enjoy himself there.

They were an odd pair, Draco and Augusta, but after the initial rows and disagreements and general resentment, they'd discovered they worked excellently together. Augusta manned the counter out front, taking orders and helping customers and tidying up during lulls. Draco stayed in the back, taking inventory, brewing potions, bottling and labeling and pricing ingredients, sorting herbs, and generally running everything behind the scenes. He never ventured into the main shop if he could help it. He'd found out early on that he wasn't at all cut out for customer service.

That, and the Dark Mark on his arm tended to scare off business.

He glanced at his left arm, raised above his head as he felt the ceiling for any lingering dampness. The tattoo had faded considerably, no longer the vivid, angry black it had been, but it was still incredibly distinctive. He normally wore long sleeves to cover it, but he'd pushed his sleeves out of the way earlier to cut up some roots.

He remembered how positive he'd been that once Augusta realized who he was – _what _he was – he'd be fired. After all, he'd hardly been in the position to give her his name the first time they'd met.

"Before I start," he'd said after she had given him a long lecture about messing with her organization system, "you should know–"

"Draco Malfoy, ex-Death Eater. Yes, yes, I've heard nothing but the gripes of the other shop owners for days about you scaring off business, looking for a job. I don't care. As you so kindly pointed out, no one shops here anyway," Augusta had said with a shrug. "Do your work, I'll pay you, we're both better off. Yes?" And that had been the end of it.

Sometimes she asked him questions about his role in the war. After opening up to her, he'd told her everything over the course of several weeks. She'd listened patiently each time the conversation came around, now and then commenting on how idiotic he was or what a stupid decision he'd made or laughing at his embarassments. He'd long since learned to accept that from her.

"Draco?"

He jumped, slamming his head into the ceiling as a result. Cursing, he shook his head to clear away the black spots swimming before his eyes and climbed down from the table, satisfied with his repair spells for now.

"Yes," he answered when his feet were safely on the ground. Augusta was fighting a smile, and he scowled at her for finding amusement in his pain.

"Is this all the boomslang skin we have? We're all out in front."

Draco looked at the package in her hand. "That's all?" he asked, turning immediately to the shelves lining the room, eyes searching. The space carefully labeled, '_boomslang skin_' was indeed empty.

"I guess so," he answered himself. "I'll order more." He made a note of it on a scrap of parchment, pinning it to the small corkboard leaning against a stack of books. It was covered in similar notes to himself on variously shaped ripped-off pieces of paper, resembling a haphazard mosaic.

The bell above the door out front jingled, and Augusta hurried away, only to pop her head back in a moment later. "I need three starter kits," she said.

Business had been picking up coniderably so far this summer. Ever since term had ended at Hogwarts, students and their parents had been in and out periodically, and other patrons of Diagon Alley had taken notice. All of them had wrongfully assumed the place was a new business, having never noticed it before tucked away in a side street as it was and previously so coated in grime that it had probably been thought to be abandoned.

Draco grabbed three of the Hogwarts starter potions kits and took them out to the counter. He set them down next to Augusta, who cast him a quick grateful smile before turning to the customer waiting to purchase them.

"Oh!" the woman said in surprise, and Draco turned to find her eyes were trained on his left arm. He glanced down to see he'd forgotten to pull his sleeves down. He yanked the fabric down over the tattoo and turned abruptly to return to the back room. "Oh," the woman repeated. She grabbed her handbag off the counter and backed away.

"I-I don't think I'll be needing these after all," she stammered. She gave a nervous laugh. "Silly me. I've already bought some!"

"No you haven't," her son said, looking at her as though she'd gone mad.

"Yes, yes I did Jamie, you just forgot. We're so silly, forgetting things."

"But Mum-"

"Right, come along kids, we have books to buy!"

She shepherded her children out of the shop hurriedly, casting a frightened glance back at Augusta as she exited. A moment later, Augusta appeared in the back room where Draco was busily mixing a new potion. His right sleeve was still pushed up to his elbow, his left conspicuously still pulled down to his wrist.

"Draco," Augusta said, and he grunted in reply, not looking at her.

"Now, don't be that way," the old woman chided gently. "Not your fault one bit. Idiots, all of them." He didn't answer, focusing on the task at hand and refusing to look at her. She sighed and returned to the front of the shop.

He tried to forget the encounter entirely, busying himself with bottling some new ingredients and restocking the shelves out front and making up the order forms for the next shipment of ingredients. He ignored Augusta's probing looks and kept his head down for the rest of the day. Whenever the bell jingled, he made sure he was in the back room. By closing time, all he'd accomplished was building up his frustration.

"All done then?" Augusta asked, her head appearing around the door. He nodded, scooping the last of the unbottled ingredients back into their bulk containers for storage. He cleaned the work table with a flick of his wand and straightened up the empty vials, jars and bottles in the center of the table.

"All done," he agreed. He turned to look at her and noticed her fleeting glance toward his arm and back to his face. He'd pushed his sleeves up again so as not to drag them in the herbs he'd been working with.

"You should just sack me," he said, pulling his sleeves down once more. She snorted.

"Why should I do a stupid thing like that?" she asked. Draco lifted his left arm in response.

"I'm costing you business," he added.

"Nonsense," Augusta snapped. "One idiotic customer isn't going to be the end of me. You'll be here tomorrow or I'm sacking your arse."

Draco raised an eyebrow at her, and she scowled, realizing what she'd said. "I'm not sacking you. And you're not quitting. I'll see you tomorrow."

She stared up at him fiercely until he nodded. Then she smiled. "Good. Have a lovely evening then." He shook his head as he gathered his cloak and wand. Sometimes he was sure that old woman was off her rocker. But as he spun in place and Disapparated, he realized he didn't care. He liked Augusta Bane, and that was enough for both of them.

* * *

><p>What's that? And update? Do those still exist? Am I still alive? Yes and yes. So obviously I didn't get this updated before the end of Christmas break, as it's now February. Eh, my bad. So, this wasn't entirely what I had in mind when I set out to write this chapter, and it ended up being longer than I planned on, but I think it turned out for the best. The original was too brief in its explanation of how Draco ended up at the apothecary and attempts at a different plot point entirely just nosedived. So this is what you get.<p>

As you can see, I kind of got around the whole 'gradual change' thing by skipping ahead, but that's only because I couldn't think of a way to drag it out without being horrifically boring. But he hasn't changed _that _much. He's still proud and moody and generally clueless about other people. I actually had to edit a couple places of conversation so he wouldn't have _too_ much progress - I think I had him saying _sorry_ at one point, and that was just too much change for Draco Malfoy. So he's changed, but not substantially.

Like it? Review! Don't like it? Review! Still sitting in bed at one in the afternoon? Review! Oh wait, that's me.

Review!

Always,  
>Megan<p> 


	7. Unwelcome Interruptions

Unwelcome Interruptions

The bell over the front door jingled, but Draco hardly heard it, so hard was he concentrating on potion-brewing. Every now and then he glanced down at the book on the table, but mostly he stared with deep focus on the boiling cauldron, stirring the potion with a large wooden spoon very carefully and methodically. He'd been working on perfecting this particular brew for the last two weeks, and every time he'd set out to do so he'd failed utterly and miserably. It had been a slow morning, so he'd started another batch, and Augusta had given him a wide berth so far to let him concentrate.

So of course he didn't even notice when the door to the back room opened and Augusta came bustling in with a list in her hand.

"What does a girl like that want these kinds of things for anyway?" the old woman was muttering to herself. Draco ignored her. "Honestly. What's she trying to do, poison an entire village? Doesn't seem likely…"

She moved around, gathering ingredients in a little basket as she went, all the while muttering darkly. "Dittany, boomslang skin, doxy eggs? Antimony? Powdered erumpet horn?"

Draco finally tuned in to what she was saying. He raised his head a fraction. "What's going on?" he asked, allowing her a very quick glance before snapping his attention back to his caludron.

"Some Hogwarts student came in with a list of ingredients she needed. Strange combination of things, if you ask me, not the sort parents usually allow their children to buy, and not the least of reasons being how expensive they are," Augusta said, looking disturbed.

"Maybe her father is a potioneer," Draco suggested.

"Would have thought she'd said _'My father needs these_' then."

Draco shrugged. He didn't particularly care one way or another what the girl wanted with these ingredients; he just wanted to brew his potion correctly. Augusta huffed unhappily as she returned to the front of the shop.

"Here you are, dearie," she said sweetly. "Hope your parents gave you enough money for all this; they're quite expensive you know," she added as a fair warning. A harsh laugh answered her, and something in Draco's memory stirred at the sound of it. _Focus_, he scolded himself, adding a dash of unicorn blood and gently mixing it into the brew.

"They're not for my parents. They wouldn't have the first idea what to do with most of this stuff. They're for me. I get bored easily, and someone in my family has to know how to make a common antidote," the girl replied.

"These are not common antidote ingredients," Augusta pushed.

"Fair enough. I'm a recreational potioneer then."

Draco couldn't help but glance toward the door again. Something about the way the girl spoke reminded him of someone, but he couldn't put his finger on it with his mind so focused on his task at hand. It was like a tiny fly buzzing around his head, a nuisance, but not his biggest concern.

Augusta made polite conversation for the next minute or so, and Draco tuned the babble out once again. He looked at the ingredients list in the book. Ever so gently, he dropped a tiny spoonful of crushed scarab eyes. The potion let up a plume of green smoke and turned a vivid lime. He couldn't contain his grin. Carefully, he adjusted the heat under the cauldron and reached for the powdered moonstone.

"_Shit!"_

Draco jumped at the shout, the bottle of powder slipping from his hands and landing right in the middle of the potion. _BOOM! _The whole thing exploded as Draco threw himself to the floor, covering everything with a thick layer of lime green muck. Dark smoke was everywhere, and a horribly offensive smell filled the room. Choking and coughing, he pulled himself back to his feet and groped for his wand in the haze.

"What on earth-? Oh, _Draco_," Augusta called through the smoke. Draco waved his wand several times, jabbing the air angrily as he first cleaned himself off then worked on clearing the room of its suffocating green smoke. After several seconds he could see Augusta standing horrified in the doorway. He turned to see the entire wall of shelves behind him was covered in green muck, but otherwise unharmed.

"Draco, your head."

Confused, he reached up and felt his forehead. His fingers came away bright red.

"What-?"

"Oh dear Merlin, Malfoy."

Draco's head snapped up, the blood – and accompanying pain – temporarily leaving his mind entirely. The younger Greengrass girl was standing behind Augusta, looking surprised, but infuriatingly amused by the scene before her.

For some reason the sight of her made him want to punch something.

"Draco, sit down, you look ill," Augusta commanded, rushing over and leading him to a stool. He sank onto it obediently and she went right about prodding his head.

"Ow, woman!" he yelped, jerking away.

"Oh, hush, you big baby. You have a piece of cauldron lodged in your forehead."

"So _leave_ it there! That _hurts!_" he growled as she continued poking around the wound. He leaned away, but that didn't deter her.

"You look completely disgusting, you know that?" Greengrass asked. Draco scowled at her.

"Why are you still here?"

"Draco, don't be rude."

"It looks worse than it is I suppose," she continued, inviting herself into the room and coming over to stand above him. She looked down at his forehead critically. "Head wounds bleed a lot," she added.

"Go away."

"Draco."

"You know this is your fault, don't you?" he added, narrowing his eyes at her. She laughed that annoying laugh of hers.

"No. Do tell me how," she said, crossing her arms and leaning back on the table behind her.

"You're the one who shouted and made me drop the jar I was holding," he accused her angrily.

"Not my fault you scare so easily," she said with a shrug. "You try getting a splinter under your fingernail and not swearing. You should probably do something about that door frame of yours, ma'am," she added to Augusta politely. Augusta ignored her.

"There," she said instead, producing a small shard of metal. Draco stared at it, surprised something so small could cause so much pain and blood. It was barely the size of his little fingernail.

"You should probably clean yourself up, Malfoy," Greengrass suggested. "You look like someone stabbed you."

Augusta 'tsk'ed disapprovingly, but didn't comment. Draco just glared.

"I still don't know why you haven't left yet."

She shrugged. "It's hard to find things that amuse me. You've done a pretty good job, and I'd hate to give it up so soon."

He scowled at her and she smiled sweetly.

"What do you want with those ingredients?" he asked then, changing the subject. She glanced down at the bag in her hand.

"Recreational potion-making," she repeated. "None of your business anyway."

Draco stood up and moved to the small washroom, peering at his face in the mirror. It was indeed a bloody mess. He cleaned it up with a wave of his wand, healing the cut left behind on his forehead with a quick spell. When he returned to the back room, Greengrass was perched on his stool, glancing around at the slime-covered walls with distaste.

"Go away," Draco muttered. She laughed – he gritted his teeth – and hopped up.

"Only because you asked so nicely," she said with a smile. He rolled his eyes, and when he glanced at her again, he was surprised to see her suddenly somber and serious-looking. Would he _ever_ understand her mood swings? _Why would I want to? _he asked himself.

He managed to follow her line of sight to his bare forearm. The Dark Mark was more noticeable against the stark white of the sleeves he'd pushed up to his elbows. He pulled his sleeves down.

"Go away," he said again, not meeting her eyes. She blinked a few times before nodding and turning and walking away without saying anything else. A moment later the bell above the door jingled, and the door snapped shut behind her.

* * *

><p>I wrote this a couple nights ago and was waiting until I'd reread it to post it, just in case Draco's personality tried to slip away again. I'm not sure how I feel about this, but it's necessary to move forward without too much time elapsing between chapters. Also, previous versions tried to give Astoria a quite different personality, but I rather like her snarky, sarcastic, generally belittling-Draco outlook right now, and she's had much less reason to change than he has.<p>

As for the last bit, I just thought it would be nice to shut her up for once. I know her personality has been difficult to grasp because she's mostly an enigma to Draco, who is rather obtuse, and he's the one providing the point of view. Mostly, she's just looking to be treated as an equal, and every time she's encountered Draco (with the exception of the very first time in the carriage in chapter 1), she tries to push him toward seeing her that way, and every time it's failed. Also, she thinks he's an arrogant, spoiled little boy, and their encounters either amuse her or infuriate her, depending on her mood. The point of the last scene was to remind her of his past, which she still doesn't believe he's completely overcome, and that small reminder of just how deeply he was involved in the war was very sobering for her.

I know a lot of you aren't quite sure if you like Astoria or not. That's okay. Draco doesn't like her, so the fact that you guys don't know if you do yet is just telling me that on some slight level, I'm managing to channel Draco adequately. And that makes me happy.

Right, please review! Even if you don't like cats. But I mean c'mon, how could you not? Fluffy little buckets of sarcasm and diabolical evil plotting? What's _not_ to love?

Always,  
>Megan<p>

P.S. I'm thinking about posting this story from Astoria's point of view as well. Thoughts? (Be aware that even if I get outstanding feedback for this idea, it might not happen. It's currently the inspired idea of a 1 a.m. writing session, and the inspiration/ambition may soon abandon me.)


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